


All That Matters

by finishusatoneblow



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Abortion, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Crying, Detailed Description of Abortion, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Crying, Lots of that too, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 13:01:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1305745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finishusatoneblow/pseuds/finishusatoneblow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire and Enjolras are a happily bonded omega and alpha. But when Grantaire accidentally becomes pregnant and decides he doesn't want to keep the baby, they have to navigate a path more difficult than either of them imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Matters

**Author's Note:**

> MAJOR TW for detailed/graphic descriptions of abortion please do not read if abortion or graphic medical procedures is a trigger for you! (or if you're pro-life because I really just don't want to deal with that) (There's no blood, so don't worry about that)

Grantaire stumbles back into the apartment later than usual that evening, completely dumbstruck.

“Hey! Where were you? I was expecting you home sooner.” Enjolras’ cheery voice greets him, as he pops his head out of the kitchen. His eyes widen at the sight of Grantaire. Grantaire knows he must look pale, because he feels like all the blood has run out of his body.

“Grantaire. What’s wrong?” Enjolras immediately crosses the room toward him.

Grantaire takes the hand he offers and topples them onto the couch. “Let’s sit down,” he says dazedly. “You need to sit for this.”

“Grantaire— _what is it?_ ”

Grantaire tries to breathe and fails, so he just goes for it.

“Enjolras, I’m—I’m pregnant. It’s your child. Of course it’s yours. I’m carrying your child.” And then under his breath, “Oh _god_.”

Enjolras just stares silently in astonishment. His hands go to Grantaire’s hips almost reflexively, his thumbs skimming over Grantaire’s pelvis, where it, the _baby_ , is already growing.

When Grantaire finally meets his eyes, he sees the panic rising on Enjolras’ face. They aren’t ready for this. They aren’t equipped; they aren’t stable, financially or otherwise. They’re not even _thinking_ about marriage.

They’re bonded, so there’s no question that they’re going to stay together for a very, very long time. But marriage for bonded couples implies children. And they’re so wrapped up in their projects these days, still getting used to being wrapped up in each other, that they haven’t even given it a thought.

“How did you—“ Enjolras starts. “Are you sure?” He sputters.

Grantaire nods.

“Since when? When did you find out?”

Grantaire would roll his eyes, because he obviously just found out or he wouldn’t be hyperventilating on the couch at this moment. But he’s shaking too hard, so he just says, “Just now. I was feeling weird. Tired and slow, feverish. So I went to the clinic down the street after work and… and they told me.”

“Can you be sure? You should go to a real doctor. Tomorrow—we’ll-”

“Enjolras.” Grantaire squeezes his hand. “They said it was an undeniable positive. And besides… I know it’s true. I- I can feel it.”

Enjolras presses a palm to Grantaire’s stomach.

“No,” Grantaire mutters. “It’s not… I just _know_. It’s nothing that concrete yet.”

“Oh my god,” Enjolras says. “Oh my god.”

He’s starting to panic now. Great. That makes two of them.

“How could this happen?” Enjolras says, wide-eyed. “I thought you were taking injections?”

Grantaire can’t stop his chest from tightening and his eyes from misting over. This is all his fault. He’s the only one who can take birth control.  Neither of them have been on suppressants since they got together—it’s considered ludicrous to try to tame the ecstasy of heat once a mate is found. It’s Grantaire’s responsibility and he fucked it up.

Contraceptive choices are limited for alphas and omegas. Anything that gets in the way during the physical act, condoms or hormone rings, would either be broken or completely forgotten during the wild throes of heat. Grantaire doesn’t exactly live by a strict schedule, so the pill was out. He was supposed to be on injections.

“I didn’t realize until they told me,” Grantaire mutters, looking away from Enjolras’ face down at their now joined hands. “My last appointment—I had to cancel it because of the art show. And I never rescheduled. I just completely forgot. I never remembered until the moment they told me, and…  I’m so sorry, Enjolras, I’m so sorry. I was so stupid. How I could completely neglect this thing that affects us both, our future… If you had been in control this never would have happened.”

Enjolras wrenches his hand from Grantaire’s grip and pulls Grantaire’s chin up to look him directly in the eyes.

“No. Listen to me. I would _never_ have let you surrender the freedom and autonomy of your reproductive health to me. That was, is, and always will be, your choice. I will not pester you to take medications, I will not make appointments for you to be pumped full of whatever drugs suit my needs. That is up to _you,_ Grantaire.” Enjolras sounds as fierce as ever, and Grantaire is so glad that’s who Enjolras is, never wavering, as sure and bold in this as when he’s arguing politics.

“And I’m not mad,” Enjolras whispers softly, bringing Grantaire’s chin up the tiniest bit to peck his lips.

Grantaire lets out a shuddering breath of relief and pulls Enjolras close, tucking his head into Enjolras’ shoulder. Enjolras pets his hair instinctively, whispering in his ear.

“Shh, it’s alright. It’ll be alright.”

There can be no decisions tonight. Grantaire is a wreck, as he begins sobbing into Enjolras’ shoulder. Lovely, beautiful, stalwart Enjolras who just keeps comforting Grantaire despite the fact that Grantaire knows he’s completely freaking out.

Grantaire raises his tear-streaked face to Enjolras and he knows it’s completely inadequate, but it’s never felt truer, and he can’t help himself from choking out, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Enjolras murmurs, eyes boring into Grantaire’s. “I love you, Grantaire, that’s all that matters.”

He leads them to bed, wraps Grantaire in the sheets carefully, and pulls him into his arms. Grantaire rests his head on Enjolras’ warm, solid chest. Enjolras presses his cheek to Grantaire’s forehead and holds him close as Grantaire lets the tears fall. He cries himself to sleep.

Enjolras stays awake, holding him, until his body finally succumbs to sleep in the early hours of daylight.

* * *

 Enjolras wakes alone only a few hours later and drags his tired body to the kitchen, where Grantaire is staring down a cup of coffee, and has made breakfast for both of them.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, without looking up.

“Good morning,” Enjolras responds quietly. “You really didn’t have to. You could’ve used the extra sleep.”

“Yeah, in my delicate condition,” Grantaire snorts.

“That’s not what I meant,” Enjolras’ voice continues to be unnervingly even and quiet.

He sits next to Grantaire and starts picking at the food.

“I woke up and I couldn’t stop thinking” Grantaire explains. He can’t wait any longer. “I know we’re probably supposed to have some long, painstaking discussion about all the options, but …” Enjolras draws in a breath. “I want to get rid of it.”

Enjolras looks up at him, jaw tight, and just nods.

“That’s it?” Grantaire demands. “No ‘Have you thought about this, Grantaire?’, no ‘Let’s talk this over,’ no ‘You’re not killing my child’?”

“It’s your choice,” Enjolras says simply. “I don’t get a say.”

“You _do_ get a say, it’s our life. For god’s sake, it’s your child!”

“It’s not.” Enjolras is starting to heat up. “It’s _not_ , because you’ve decided you don’t want it, so it isn’t anything. It isn’t now and it never will _be_ a child.”

They fall silent.

“I don’t want this to be just my choice. We have a life together. Can’t we at least talk about it?” Grantaire says.

“You just said you didn’t want to have a discussion about it!” Enjolras looks about 5 seconds away from pulling all the beautiful blonde hair out of his head. Grantaire can’t really blame him.

“I know…” Grantaire mutters. “Look. I told you what I want to do. What do you want to do?”

“Grantaire, you cannot expect me to express desire for any other option now that I know that you don’t want to have a child. If you don’t want it, I don’t want it.”

Grantaire could kill this man for his stubbornness if he weren’t so in love with him.

“Now, what I can do, if you’d like, is ask you why,” Enjolras finishes.

God, there are millions of reasons. Grantaire only got sober a few months ago, his art career is just beginning, Enjolras is as busy as ever, and travelling too. They’ve learned how to carve out time for each other in their lives, but heats themselves take up enough time, and they don’t even eat real meals half the time, the apartment is a mess 100% of the time, they’re both selfish as fuck, and Christ where are they going to get the money?

Instead, Grantaire says, “I think childbirth will ruin sex for me forever.”

Enjolras rubs his face over with his hands, but Grantaire can see the curve of a smile on the corners of his lips.

“Be serious,” he says.

“Okay,” Grantaire breathes. “Okay. I don’t feel ready. God this sounds so selfish, I’m not ready to sacrifice my life and—I was only partially kidding—my body for someone else. Our lives are just taking off, and I want to focus on me, and you too, of course. And I won’t ask you to compromise your career. You always say this is a crucial time. To do the kid thing now would be, effectively, to throw that all away. The momentum we’ve built—both of us. You know more than anyone I’m not being dramatic.”

“I know,” Enjolras says. “It is a very important time. We could… lose a lot. In terms of career. If that’s what matters to you.”

“It does, now,” Grantaire says, a little more self-assured. “And I know it matters to you, too.” Career does matter, now that he feels like he’s actually getting somewhere. Is he supposed to give up the only chance he’ll probably ever have not to be an utter fuck-up? He’s making more art than ever before. And having it displayed. And _selling it_. Well, some of it.

“Oh, and we may not be broke but do you know how much kids cost? Too damn much, that’s how much. We’re still paying off loans and we’d have to get a mortgage—a mortgage?. We’re too young! _God,_ we’re young. I mean, 25, I know people have families by now, I know they do it, but I feel so young, don’t you feel young as fuck? We’re complete slobs and terrible influences, and like I said, I wasn’t kidding, I’ll be stretched out forever down south and the residual pudge will probably never go away, sex will be disgusting for both of us. And childbirth, Enjolras, I really, really can’t do that, I am _not_ ready for that. I may never be ready for that.”

He’s babbling.

Enjolras lets him babble. He’s staring intently at Grantaire, just listening. This is new.

“Okay,” Enjolras says when Grantaire’s finished. “I can see you have a lot of concerns. And while I don’t share _all_ of them,” he smirks, “I agree with a lot of them.” Enjolras grows solemn then, bowing his head. “This really is a terrible, awful time.” He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. Grantaire can see the pain written on his face.

“You won’t be sorry to see it—” Grantaire’s hands go to his pelvis on instinct, “—you know…”

Enjolras looks up at him again, his blue eyes shining.

“I’ll be happy to see you free of it,” his voice wavers the tiniest bit. “I—I can’t pretend I don’t have some feelings towards… what could be.” Because it’s not a baby, it’s _not_ , Enjolras reminds himself. “But that’s probably biology more than anything, and you matter to me more.”

Grantaire would have been a lot more worried if it were another alpha besides Enjolras. Alphas have very strong biological affinities towards reproduction and tend to be fiercely protective of their mates, but even more protective of their offspring. Alphas have been known to force resistant mates into birth and cast them aside once the children are born. But these thoughts never dared enter Grantaire’s mind with respect to Enjolras.

“Thank you,” is all he can manage, and Enjolras pulls him into a tight hug.

When they pull apart, Enjolras is all business.

“Alright. We’re sending you to the best place there is.”

* * *

They don’t consult Joly or Combeferre for the sake of privacy. Enjolras spends the rest of his Saturday researching omega abortion clinics with Grantaire. Enjolras is determined to give Grantaire the safest, most comfortable experience possible, no matter the cost. After all, he says, it’s a fraction of the cost of raising a child.

Grantaire makes the call.

He’ll go in for a consultation on Monday, and schedule the actual procedure there. Enjolras is going with him, doesn’t even let Grantaire consider keeping him away.

Monday morning finds them getting out of bed together, instead of Enjolras rising an hour earlier for work. Grantaire had protested him missing work, but to no avail (“How many more days of work would I miss if we had a _baby?_ ”).

Sitting in the waiting room, crushing Enjolras’ hand in his grip, Grantaire can’t help but be nervous.

“Relax, it’s not happening today,” Enjolras says.

“I know, I just… haven’t done this in a while,” Grantaire says. _Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be in this situation_ , he thinks savagely.

The nurse calls him back. Enjolras asks to go with him. They let him. They can sense he’s Grantaire’s alpha, so they never really try to stop him, but they look extremely confused.

In the exam room, Grantaire undresses, puts on the essentially purposeless gown, and waits. Enjolras doesn’t sit down, just stands at his side, squeezing his hand. Grantaire can’t help but notice Enjolras hasn’t touched his stomach since he made the decision. Not even in bed when they’re curled around one another.

The doctor comes in, and he looks kind, but tired and very no-nonsense. He questions Grantaire about his medical and sexual history, and he’s filled with shame again at his failure to use contraception. The doctor nods, not like he understands, but as if to say, ‘We’re here either way, now let’s deal with it.’ Grantaire is eternally grateful.

The doctor makes Enjolras sit down and gets Grantaire in the stirrups. He starts prodding under the gown, whipping through the normal exam so he can get to the bimanual and get his hands on Grantaire’s uterus to confirm the pregnancy.

“Deep breath for me,” the doctor hums, one hand deep inside Grantaire, the other pressing his abdomen. “You are definitely pregnant,” he confirms. “How long since your last heat?” he asks, shifting his hands and pressing the heel of his palm into Grantaire’s pelvis, and making him squirm a little.

“Aahh—little over two months.”

The doctor hums again, and slowly draws his hand out of Grantaire.

The ultrasound is next. Grantaire doesn’t look, even though he’s told there’s nothing to see yet. Enjolras is stony-faced in his chair.

The doctor goes on to do the usual swabs, tests, and smears, for god knows what reason (“To see that you’re in proper health to terminate the pregnancy”) which are as uncomfortable as Grantaire remembers, perhaps more so because he’s aware of an extra weight inside of him—or maybe it’s just a placebo effect.

He stays lost in thought, staring at the ceiling until the exam is finished and he can finally close his damn legs.

The doctor makes a few notes and then addresses Grantaire. “Procedure is to wait at least 24 hours before we let you go through with it. The ultrasound and the time of your last heat indicate that you’re pretty close to or over the 9-week mark, so a pill is no longer a viable option. It’ll be a short, outpatient procedure.”

Grantaire nods. “What does it do?” he asks nervously.

“Of course I’m happy to walk you through it. We’ll give you some medication for pain, antibiotics to stave off infection, and a sedative if you would like. Then open everything up with the speculum, and give you a numbing injection in the cervix, because the next part is not so fun. We’ll stretch open the cervix with increasingly large dilators, just enough to get a cannula, a tube, into the uterus. Then we’ll evacuate the uterus through the tube using suction. The suction will last about 5 to 10 minutes and you can expect some moderate to severe cramping.”

“As for aftercare, you’ll want to bring someone with you,” he nods to Enjolras “but you’ll get further instructions then. The risks—”

Grantaire is starting to feel sick and he wishes the doctor would just shut up. Of course, he doesn’t.

“—blood clots, infection, heavy bleeding, and this is very unlikely, damage to the cervix, uterus or other sexual organs.”

Wait. “Wait,” Grantaire almost yelps. “Does that mean in the future…?”

“There is a risk of reduced fertility or complication during future pregnancy. But that is very unlikely, if the procedure is performed correctly. And I assure you that you are in excellent hands.”

Grantaire swallows, but nods again.

“Any questions?”

He shakes his head.

“Great—call back after 24 hours and you can make an appointment. Sooner is better than later. Have a good day.”

He walks out of the room and shuts the door.

Grantaire feels glued to the table. Enjolras carries his clothes over to him and rests a bracing hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

Half of Grantaire wants him to say he doesn’t have to do this. It sounds horrific. It seemed so simple in his head. Get sedated, have them pull the thing out of him, get back to his life.

But even this, in comparison to carrying it to term for months on end, having his cervix stretched ten times wider and enduring ten times the pain to give birth… it’s worth it to do it now.

Grantaire wants to collapse into Enjolras’ arms, have him carry him home and put him to sleep until it’s all over. But he can’t do that. So he takes his clothes from Enjolras and pulls them on. And if he leaves leaning a little heavier on Enjolras, his mate doesn’t seem to mind.

* * *

Before the 24 hours are up, Enjolras doesn’t say Grantaire doesn’t have to do this. But he does ask Grantaire if he is sure, says that all the options are still open to him. Grantaire believes him, because he’s Enjolras. But he remembers his reasons, and when he thinks about the other options, actually giving birth and having to keep and raise a child, the screaming, the lack of sleep, the hardship, the dead-end jobs to make ends meet… the dread and anxiety make him sigh in relief at the thought of the procedure.

(He does picture the moments just after birth, in the hospital, maybe. When he has a brand new baby, a tiny testament to his and Enjolras’ love, wrapped in his arms. Enjolras holding him oh so carefully and kissing his pink forehead. But he knows that’s a small part of the story. It can be a part of the story later, when it has a better chance at a happy ending.)

Enjolras goes to work the next day, leaving Grantaire to make the call. He wakes Grantaire up before he leaves, and Grantaire would think he’s dreaming if his dreams haven’t abysmal these past few days. Enjolras is leaning over the bed, backlit by the sun coming in the bedroom window, looking far too well groomed for this early in the morning.

He’s gently shaking Grantaire awake, and once Grantaire’s eyes open, murmurs “I will support you whatever you choose.”

“I love you,” he whispers fiercely, his eyes aflame.

Grantaire nods, meets Enjolras’ lips briefly, and watches him rush out the door.

Grantaire makes the call.

They can fit him in on Friday.

* * *

The rest of the week passes with Enjolras offering gritted teeth to the rest of the world and only the tenderest of expressions for Grantaire. Grantaire’s just trying not to think about it. He’s got a gnawing feeling of dread in his stomach, but he can pretend it’s just the pregnancy. It’s not hard to trick himself. He’s exhausted and hot all the time, and his nipples are already sore. God, he doesn’t even have breasts (it’s still too early). Enjolras lets him sleep as much as he wants and keeps the air conditioning on even in March, and he’s being entirely too nice about this, but it’s so _alpha_ to dote on one’s omegaand fuck it, it’s so Enjolras to dote on Grantaire.

Friday morning comes and Enjolras is off work again. They stumble out of bed together this time, and make breakfast. Grantaire tries to muster an appetite through the building anxiety. They told him to eat something a few hours before. Enjolras doesn’t pester him, but stays seated until Grantaire eats at least half his plate.

They drive to the office, and Enjolras doesn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand or arm the whole way from their front door to the waiting room.

Grantaire is called back, and Enjolras immediately rises. The nurse lets him into the hallway to avoid a scene before he puts up a hand.

“Alphas are usually not permitted to witness the procedure. Your protective instincts could cause you to disrupt the procedure and we cannot have that in our facility.”

Grantaire expects Enjolras to go ballistic, to give the nurse the death stare and reduce him to a whimpering puddle.

Instead, Enjolras pleads. “Please,” he says. “Please, I need to be in there. I won’t disrupt anything, I promise. I just need to know that he’s okay,” he squeezes Grantaire’s arm. “Don’t let me wait out there and wonder if he—if he needs me,” Enjolras voice breaks.

Grantaire’s jaw drops. Of course he needs Enjolras there. But the fact that Enjolras needs to be there too floors him.

The nurse looks between them, casting a dubious look, but finally sighs and beckons them both back.

 (( **TW for detailed description of abortion** ))

Grantaire gets half-naked and into the stirrups for the second time that week but this time is even more nerve-wracking. His heart is pounding and the florescent lights are making everything swim. Luckily, Enjolras is sitting by his head, clutching his hand and stroking his forehead every now and again.

The doctor puts in an IV that he says will give Grantaire antibiotics, pain meds, and a sedative to help him relax, and gets settled at the end of the table with a horrifying array of instruments. Even the ones Grantaire’s experienced before look more sinister in this context.

It’s less than a minute before Grantaire starts to feel a little woozy from the meds. Everything gets dimmer and misty around the edges and he’s grateful for his fuzzy state of consciousness.

He still has to be reminded to breathe and relax his body as the doctor slides the speculum into place. He feels more exposed than ever before, and squeezes Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras squeezes right back.

He looks back between his legs to see the doctor brandishing a truly terrifying needle.

“Don’t worry, I’ve already applied some local anesthetic, but we’re going to numb the cervix now. You won’t feel the needle,” the doctor croons soothingly. “I’m going to need you to cough for me.”

Grantaire does and while it doesn’t hurt, he does feel something poke a little too far inside.

Enjolras is drawing hissing breaths every few seconds, and Grantaire looks up at him to assure him he can’t feel anything. At least at the moment.

The dilators come next. Grantaire hadn’t really known what to expect. The smallest looks like a tool you’d find in a dentist’s office, the largest that like it could be a very thin metal vibrator. It looks much too big for what Grantaire knows is a very small opening right now.

An omega’s cervix dilates every two months during heat to allow sperm to enter the uterus, and of course, during childbirth. But the rest of the time, it’s closed off like a woman’s.

“We’ll begin cervical dilation now,” the doctor says.

The sedative must really be kicking in, because Grantaire can’t even tense as he feels the first little dentist tool slide into his body. After it gets far back enough, he can no longer feel the top of it. Slightly larger and larger dilators get sent back, but Grantaire can’t feel the stretch, can’t feel himself being opened up. He’s numb. He stares at the ceiling.

The doctor extracts the second-largest of the dilators but says “That will be good enough. You’re nice and relaxed and open.” He smiles faintly at Grantaire. “Are you ready to begin the suction?”

As he’ll ever be. Grantaire nods.

Enjolras scoots closer to him, clutching his hand to his chest.

The doctor inserts the tube. It goes in far, farther than the dilators, all the way up. Grantaire can feel it. There’s a chunk missing where his cervix has been numbed, but he can feel the top of it invading his uterus. His instinct would be to push it out, but his body feels so heavy. The sedation has left him lazy.

He takes a breath, and the doctor turns the suction on.

The pain is immediate. He’s digging his nails into the back of Enjolras’ hand and can’t stop himself from crying out at the convulsions of his uterus. It feels like it’s clutching at its contents, trying to battle the suction and keep everything inside. He closes his eyes against the pain, but that also means he doesn’t have to watch whatever’s coming through the tube. He waits for the cramping to let up. It doesn’t.

He feels the doctor moving the tube in circles through his insides. He can feel pieces of something _else_ moving around, churning like horrible nausea, only lower. His uterus is squeezing painfully, and he can’t tell whether it’s trying to hold on or push out. Either way, he’s never experienced anything like this before, and it’s turning into what feel like contractions.

He can’t help but groan in pain, pulling on Enjolras’ hand with all his might to distract himself, gain some leverage over the pain as his uterus squeezes particularly strongly.

“Aahhhh- owwowwooww.” He’s panting heavily, and it’s only been a few minutes.

Enjolras is staring at his face, not whatever sadism is going on between Grantaire’s legs. He pushes the hair back from Grantaire’s face as he matches his grip, giving him something to push against.

Grantaire catches a breath but the doctor keeps moving the tube around and—“Jesus fucking—ah! Ahhh!” It hurts. It really fucking hurts. He’s panting for breath in between horrible aching pains and soon his breath is hitching and god he’s crying. He’s hiccupping and dry heaving and sweating and god when will this be over? The doctor lays a hand on his thigh as if to remind him to keep still. He tries, but he’s weak and he’s in pain and once he’s started crying it’s hard to stop.

But Enjolras is there, letting Grantaire crush his fingers and brushing sweat-soaked hair from his eyes and wiping his cheeks with the pad of his thumb and Grantaire is so, so grateful that he almost smiles.

But then his uterus clenches again so he just yells.

He feels the tube prodding in its rhythmic path, circling deeper and deeper inside him. He feels matter moving in his abdomen, knows its getting sucked into the tube. He doesn’t even register what that matter is, what’s happening here, because he can’t think. He’s just waiting for it to be over. Just slightly hysterical and hyperventilating and unable to think because of the stabbing, pain of his traitorous uterus. And praying for it to be over.

Less than 10 minutes later the tube goes still. The suction turns off. The doctor extracts the tube. The stabs of pain subside, but the dull, churning ache remains. The speculum comes out. His feet are lifted from the stirrups. Someone helps him into his clothes—it’s Enjolras; he can tell by his touch. He’s swaying slightly on his feet and he’s still pretty out of it. He’s flanked by Enjolras on his right, his arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, and the doctor on his left, holding his elbow to steady him, as they walk down the hall. They plop him in a chair in what must be the recovery room.

The doctor says everything went well and tells him to wait for a nurse to come and give him aftercare instructions. Grantaire lolls his head against the back of the chair, feeling tired as hell. Enjolras stands silently at his side.

The nurse comes in and tells Grantaire to rest for the rest of the day, but says he can return to business as usual tomorrow. The sedative will wear off within the hour, and he’s given a prescription for antibiotics. Then come the dos and don’ts or, as Grantaire likes to call it, the lecture.

“No baths or swimming for two weeks. You can take showers. Follow the instructions on the medication exactly. Cramping is normal. You can take any pain medication except aspirin; that’ll cause bleeding. Abdominal massages may also help. If cramping doesn’t subside after a few days, let us know. The temperature is also normal—side-effects from the pregnancy should fade in the next few days. If your temp spikes over 101 or it lasts more than 5 days, call here immediately. That could be infection. Speaking of the risk of infection: no sex for two weeks,” the nurse shoots a pointed look at Enjolras, whose eyes flash with anger before he nods. It may be hard for others to understand, but their relationship is beyond chemical. Enjolras has proven that. Grantaire doesn’t know of any other alpha who would research abortion clinics with his pregnant omega and then hold his hand through the entire process.

The nurse, unaffected, continues at full speed with the de-briefing. “You should get your next heat within two months, probably sooner. Termination of pregnancy restarts the cycle. You’ll want to be very careful. The closer it happens to the procedure, the more uncomfortable it could be for you to go through heat. Just be gentle and it’ll go fine,”

Great, sex is ruined for him anyway, Grantaire thinks.

“Birth control. You’ll want to rethink your current method, obviously. There aren’t a lot of other options, but we can do an implant,” the nurse continues.

Grantaire nods in affirmation.

“Excellent. Today, we’ll give you another injection just to be certain until you schedule that appointment. You can come back here for a follow-up in two weeks. We’ll be able to put the implant in then. Any questions?”

Grantaire shakes his head. The nurse readies the injection and swabs Grantaire’s arm. It’s so quick and easy and Grantaire feels awful because, really, how hard would it have been to get it done two months ago and avoid this mess.

The nurse interrupts his thoughts again, “Great, just sit tight here in recovery for another ten minutes and you’re free to go.”

As soon as he leaves, Enjolras kneels in front of Grantaire, taking both his hands.

“How are you feeling?” he asks tenderly.

 _Numb._ “Loopy,” Grantaire answers somewhat truthfully. “And exhausted.”

“We’ll get you home as soon as we can,” Enjolras says. “Just try to relax.” He starts massaging Grantaire’s fingers gently, but never looks away from his face.

* * *

Once they’re free to go, Enjolras lets Grantaire lean on him all the way to the car, even if it’s not strictly necessary. He covers him with a blanket from the back seat, buckles him in and gets in the drivers seat. Grantaire falls asleep on the way home, for which Enjolras is grateful. His omega needs to rest. It’s been a very taxing day. Watching Grantaire in pain on the surgical table was almost unbearable, but he’d gotten through it because Grantaire needed him. And now he needs Enjolras to take care of him while he recovers. There would be no time for Enjolras to think about what just happened. He _was_ being a good alpha; he was protecting his mate, taking care of him, making him feel loved. Nothing else mattered, no matter what cultural expectations told him. No matter who- _what_ else he was supposed to be protecting. There was no sense asking if he made the right choice, if he should have resisted Grantaire, done his duty, saved their—No, there was no use in it. He could fall apart later, when Grantaire was safe asleep in their bed and couldn’t hear him tearing apart at the seams.

Once Enjolras pulls into the driveway, he carries Grantaire from the car to their bed, tucking him in and taking care not to wake him. He knows he has to pick up the prescription antibiotics, but he doesn’t want to leave Grantaire. Still, his omega’s health is more important. He lays out water and Motrin for Grantaire, makes sure he has enough pillows, and locks up.

When he gets back, he finds Grantaire stirring in bed. Enjolras rushes in and sits down on the bed beside him, smoothing his hand over his lover’s forehead.

Grantaire groans. Enjolras immediately grabs the glass of water and pours a Motrin and an antibiotic into his hand.

“Enj’ras?” Grantaire mutters.

“I’m here,” he answers. “You wanna sit up?”

Grantaire nods. Enjolras pulls him up by the arms, propping him up with a pillow. “Take these,” he commands, handing over the pills and water to Grantaire. Grantaire dutifully obeys, then sits back on the pillows.

“How are you doing, my love?” Enjolras hums.

Grantaire sinks down in bed and curls his legs into a ball. “Let’s just say I’m glad you left these out,” he gestures to the painkillers and tucks his legs even closer to his body.

“Do you feel warm?” Enjolras asks, peering at him.

“Yes,” Grantaire admits. “But no more than I have for the past week.”

Enjolras feels his forehead anyway, but he’s satisfied enough that Grantaire isn’t burning up.

“Do you want to go take a shower?” he asks, returning to stroking Grantaire’s hair. “Or I can make you something to eat?”

Grantaire just groans. “No… I’d prefer not to move at the moment.”

“Okay… well try to rest. Get some more sleep. I’m going to shower myself,” Enjolras replies, getting up off the bed. He turns off the light and retreats to the bathroom to get lost in the steam.

* * *

Grantaire rolls over and pretends to go back to sleep. He hears Enjolras leave and tucks his knees to his chest. He feels sharper now that the sedative has worn off and the pain pills haven’t kicked in yet. He doesn’t think he could sleep if he tried. The pain isn’t too bad, but there’s definitely cramping. It helps to stay curled up in a ball. If he stretches out, he feels wide open and empty between his legs where his cervix is still stretched. Though he was numbed through the worst of it, it still feels a little sore. His whole body feels abused.

Now that it’s over, now that he has a clear head and nothing else to focus on, he can’t stop his mind from whirling through what he’s just done. He’s killed a baby. _His_ baby. He’s sucked his baby out of his body with a glorified vacuum and _what if it could feel it?_ He’s destroyed a tiny, adorable, albeit at the moment amorphous, composite human being of him and Enjolras. He’s left a hole in their lives forever, where there should have been someone else.

Grantaire tries to picture it. There’s a story there. Of Enjolras holding his hand as they both actually _watch_ an ultrasound and see their child. Taking him home from the hospital, laying him in a crib, watching him grow. First steps. Finger paints. He tries to conjure the unsavory images that led him to this decision in the first place, but he can’t. He knows it was the right decision, knows the picture he’s painted isn’t true and isn’t complete. But he just wants to wallow. They could’ve had a little family.

He couldn’t let himself think this way before, but now he can’t think of anything else. The tears start to tumble from his eyes and he doesn’t even bother to wipe them away. He just rolls over and clutches the pillow to his chest.

He’s caught between wishing Enjolras were here to hold him and being glad Enjolras is gone for a few minutes so he can have a proper breakdown. That is, until he hears unmistakable gut-wrenching sobs coming from the bathroom that Enjolras probably thinks won’t be audible over the running water. He is very wrong.

Grantaire can hear him gasping for breath in between sobs, can hear him pounding a fist against the tile, and if he weren’t such a wreck himself, he’d get up and go to him. Instead, Grantaire throws the covers over his head and keeps on crying.

Eventually, the weeping calms and the water turns off. Grantaire peeks his head out of the blankets. There’s steam flowing out the crack of the door. He keeps watch until only a few minutes later, Enjolras emerges looking tired but composed. His eyes are still red and his hands are balled into fists. He’s looking down, so he doesn’t see that Grantaire is awake. He walks into the room, turns on the lamp, and turns his back to get into fresh clothes. When he turns around Grantaire has propped himself up on his elbows.

“Get the fuck over here and hold me,” Grantaire says, making no effort to hide his tear-streaked face or the break in his voice.

Enjolras rushes over, his own eyes misting over; he blinks and the tears fall. He gets into the other side of the bed and pulls Grantaire down into the pillows. He wraps an arm around Grantaire’s chest fiercely, grabs his head full of curls and presses Grantaire’s face to his shoulder, doesn’t hesitate to bury his own head in Grantaire’s shoulder and weep. Grantaire just breathes Enjolras in for a moment, feeling the vibrations of Enjolras’ crying. He wraps his arms around his lover’s waist, treasuring the warmth of his body. His shirt is soft against Grantaire’s cheek, but it’s steadily growing wet. They break away to look into each other’s eyes.

After a beat, Enjolras just pulls him closer and whispers a litany in his ear. “R, we have each other. That’s all that matters. As long as we have each other, we’ll be fine, we’ll get through this together, you and me—”

Grantaire hopes it’ll be enough.

They lay tangled together crying into each other’s shoulders and chests and, on Enjolras’ part, whispering words of love.

Grantaire believes him, because he’s Enjolras.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a result of 2 things: I've seen several new A/B/O fics in this pairing recently, and it's always one of my favorite tropes, so I wanted to contribute; also I am constantly irked by the treatment of abortion in the media as something that no one really goes through with and is never really a viable option. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I've never had an abortion.  
> I did do a good bit of research on the procedure, side-effects, physical and psychological, and accounts from women who have had abortions. If your experience objectively contradicts what I've written, and is compatible with the A/B/O verse, please let me know!
> 
> If you're wondering, I've borrowed the anatomy for omegas basically from estelraca's Choice, Change, and Principles (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1072650/chapters/2153005), where omegas have both sex organs.


End file.
